Elizabeta Brooke: Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan

Had the fat man claimed victory, Pital wondered? He watched, but instead of going back inside to take his reward, the fat man merely sat on the steps and lit a cigarette.

Pital was disappointed. The thought of her with this ugly man had repulsed him, but he'd expected something to happen. Now he didn't know whether he should wait or -

A flash of white caught his eyes.

At the side of the house facing Pital, the woman's white shirt showed at the window. He watched her long legs come over the sill. She paused for a minute, as though listening, then dropped silently onto the grass.

Pital glanced at the fat man, but he appeared to have heard nothing. The woman remained crouched for a moment longer, as though considering her options. Then, to Pital's horror, she rose and edged towards the front of the house. Pital wanted to call out to her, not there. The fat man is ther e, but he only watched with wide eyes as she reached the corner of the house and peered around it.

Pital held his breath. But the fat man continued smoking, staring up the street the way the long haired one had gone. The woman's head moved as though she too were looking up the street, then she pulled back to face Pital, her back pressed against the wall.

Her eyes closed for a moment as though summoning some inner reserves, then they opened and he saw them narrow suspiciously. Pital felt his stomach tighten. He had the sudden horrible sensation that she was staring straight at him.

Could she see him here? He'd thought himself concealed in the tangle of banana trees. But what if he wasn't?

Would she be angry with him for watching her? What might she do? Walk over to him and… She would have to be silent, Pital thought, remembering the fat man. She might strike him for his impudence, or she might -

She might suck him.

Improbable though the thought was, it raced through his body like a flash-fire and he felt himself grow ready. Almost too ready.

His mind buzzed with encouraging thoughts. He was young and healthy. Clean. And not ugly. She would enjoy it more with him than with the fat man.

There was no reason why not…

Pital felt his leg muscles twitch. Then, with a spurt of shock, he realised he was moving forward, out of the cover of the trees. She was watching him, and the look in her eyes made him shiver inside. It was like a scary, exciting dream. A wet dream, he hoped.

Pital knew that if the fat man saw him he would be in all sorts of trouble, but he couldn't stop. He had to see if she would do this thing. Memory of his girlfriend's warm mouth told him it would be worth the risk.

Dee watched the youth approaching her — felt a certain amount of inevitability. There was a beacon inside her that drew men like moths, but it wasn't beauty or truth. The light that shone so blatantly in her eyes was nothing more than simple sexual availability.

He stopped two paces from her and stared. Dee allowed him to. The longer he did, the more power built inside her. He didn't realise he was giving her this power, but he was. And she fed on it.

Then, when she'd had enough, she moved in.

He offered no resistance as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it back over his shoulders, trapping his arms. Then she leant in, her predator's breath against his bobbing Adam's apple as she tied the shirt around his wrists.

His head fell back, his breathing erratic as she stripped off his shorts, releasing his jack-in-the-box erection. Hello, aren't you pretty, her mind said as she explored it with her tongue, pink against black.

He groaned softly as she pulled the tip into her mouth, but it was to be the last sound he made.

She grasped his testicles threateningly. "Complete silence," she hissed, then pushed him awkwardly down onto his back and used his shorts for a crude blindfold.

"Don't make a sound," she reminded him, and he nodded, vigorously. Dee had to smile. She liked obedience. She also liked the feeling of 'rightness' in what she did.

Vegetarians might quibble about whether people should eat meat, but they didn't argue that hunger must be appeased. And so it was with her. She could spend a life-time rationalising her hungers, or she could simply eat.

Tonight, she was ravenous.

Cruelly, she teased him with pleasures she knew would make him want to howl, yet he remained deathly silent, in fear of losing her attentions — and rightly so — if he uttered the slightest sound.

His skin tasted sweet and had a pleasing musky odour about it that excited her to recklessness. Not content with the two oral orgasms she'd given him, she mounted him and drove him on to a third.

It was madness with Sark a bare twenty paces away, but it felt good and she continued with it until she was sure her moth was exhausted. Then she leant over him, her own breathing ragged as she whispered, "Don't move a muscle until I come back. Understood?"

He licked his lips, nodded.

Dee had no intention of coming back, but it amused her to leave him there as a signal to Sark that he couldn't control her.

This young man would be her calling card — and like a creature marking it's territory, she paused, crouching over him to smear the juices of her sex on his face, only to shudder in surprise at the feel his tongue on her tenderised flesh. She had thought him spent, but the slow circles he inscribed convinced her she could afford another few minutes in his company.

The brutality of her last orgasm made this one slow coming, but he was patient and consistent, never varying from his agonisingly slow circumferencing until she felt the sensations crest and her shuddering hips brought his tongue hard against her clitoris.

As though sensing that he'd hit the mark, he lapped there, and she fell forward onto her hands, arching her back to keep that tongue working her, stretching out the pleasure until she was having trouble obeying her own decree of silence.

She pulled away then, but his head rose to follow her. She pushed it back down.

"Stay," she hissed as she stumbled to her feet. But the part of her that was smiling inside with creamy satisfaction was thinking he wasn't bad for a blindfolded beginner.

This one would be wasted on a young girl, she thought staring down at him, at the way his legs trembled in anticipation. What he needed was a woman with a lusty appetite.

She almost told him as much, then hesitated. No, he must discover this for himself. As they all must. She was merely the catalyst.

Still, she hoped a woman who knew what to do with him would come across his strong young body tonight and make use of it. Fondly, she reached down to toy with his beautiful black penis, stroking it until it was again erect.

Then she straightened and walked towards the beach — away from where Sark sat worrying about his agent. Dee wasn't going to waste her energy worrying. Long Shadow's problems were of his own making. It would be better for him to solve them himself. And if he didn't. Well, they all had to die someday.

A gust of salt-laden air billowed her shirt.

Ocean, she thought, sucking in great lungfuls of the briny scent as she picked her way through the thick native grasses that led onto the sand.

She would live near an ocean.

What country, with whom, or how, wasn't important. She just knew she would have that salt-laden air, and the sound of the ocean — that giant restless creature. She loved the way it threw itself up the sand towards her like a lover that would not be content until she was back in its grasp — back where it could suck and stroke her body with the rhythm of insatiability.

Insatiability. What a lovely word.

Dee turned away from the water and her shirt billowed at the front. Tendrils of wind tickled her breasts and her belly, and the sweetly aching place between her thighs.